Gone With A Whistle Poem by Leslie Xavier

I sat there watching it turn to a spec at the distance and then I look around and see people, some going away, some coming but still going away from someone, something. While some wait for their turn... In the chaos I kneel and look up and ask... Why do they have to run away.


... As as the whistle blew, she flew;
and as the dust settled, I withdrew.

I sit here, waited upon;
by a smiling hawk, all for a tip.
I can't help but look back,
when did I last see this waiter's face?
For weeks I've been at places,
similar men I've seen;
but I didn't have time to notice;
who were they and what they were doing.

I was too busy with life,
radiant from the one across.
The tips flowed to the man-server,
but I never looked at his face.
Why should I when the angel was here,
whose gentle ways were true to the core;
with no compulsions of the material kind;
but worth millions in its own right.

I remember those fork fights,
made in jest for the desserts on course.
I never wanted to win those jousts,
cos it was for her, the treats and songs.
Those moments when she'd order one,
then look at me - 'it's your turn now'.
I never wanted to make that call,
cos it was for her, the bread and words.

I sink deep into this cushioned cross,
and bite into my so called lunch;
Trying to converse with the spirits above,
while my brio goes down to the floor.
I wipe my hands clean of specs,
but can't wipe the red-stained clot.
I think I would make a call,
to see if she's safe and sound.

Rude why she has to be,
I just spoke to make it sure;
No dust had fallen on her,
en-route to her very blood.
'Sorry' is a strange word,
but stranger is this cruel old joke.
Don't expect things to last,
everything changes and for the worse.

None will know where I'd been,
what I'd done, good or bad.
None will know the amity deep,
that I'd shared with this pal of mine.
Why it has to be like this,
am I too bad to be named a friend.
It's no claim for fame or silver coins,
just the wish of a loving heart.

I saw future clear my dear,
I'd said, I'd be dull and sad;
standing near that window of iron.
As you smiled saying no, nay, nay,
the window moved in a sudden jerk,
I tried to pull it back to me,
a silly joke, but done with hope;
but my strength failed me one more time.

A week's time is nothing in life,
but this 'stranger' act is painful; Oh yeah.
I've never asked you more than this
- just the 'good' in dawn and dusk.
Even that is faded now,
forgotten in a few hours trip.
Memories keep me alive dear
It did when I watched you turn into a dot...

... As the whistle blew, she flew;
and as the dust settled, I withdrew.